Tales of the Flux Capacitor
by Anakin McFly
Summary: A assortment of short stories that explore the different aspects of the BTTF universe. STORY 17 UP
1. Star Wars

**TALES OF THE FLUX CAPACITOR**

A collection of BTTF short stories

These ficlets have been revised, mostly because the original ones were written too long ago and were starting to embarrass me. You don't have to read through them again though, as most of the changes are not that major, except maybe for _Star Wars_ and _Teacher's Kid_, which underwent the most rewriting.

The fourth and sixth fic in this collection are… different from the rest. Basically, they're just plain stupid, so if you don't mind pointless and senseless humour fics go ahead and read them. They are stories told from the point of view of a pizza and a lump of manure respectively, so… Some reviewers find them the worst in the series, but there are several weird others who think otherwise.

Disclaimer: All stories are based off characters created by Robert Zemeckis and Bob Gale. In other words, I don't own _Back to the Future_.

**STAR WARS**

Late May 1977

Hill Valley, California

"A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…" 

The movie had finally started. As the _Star Wars_ theme song struck up in the background, the cinema had become noticeably quieter than it had a few minutes before; anyone who deigned to make the slightest noise was hurriedly hushed by everyone else. The majestic John Williams music continued to accompany the soon-to-be-famous yellow words moving gradually up the screen to vanish into infinity, the only other sound in the cinema that of viewers munching popcorn.

Somewhere near the back, eight-and-a-half-year-old Marty McFly was sitting totally engrossed in what was going on in the big screen as he struggled to read the words before they became too small for him to do so. His two older siblings, on the other hand, found the popcorn much more interesting. Having deemed the words on the screen to be of little or no importance, David and Linda had started instead a competition to see who could finish their popcorn first. Their father, George McFly, looked at his youngest and smiled.

"_He'll be a Star Wars fan one day_," he thought, seeing his son's eyes glued to the screen. On the latter, the last of the yellow words disappeared as the camera panned down across the black background to reveal a bright planet and several spaceships zooming past towards it.

George settled down in his chair and turned his attention back to the movie.

Minutes passed… and then he heard it.

Darth Vader.

George started, his heart suddenly beating at twice its usual pace.

Darth Vader. The name carried along with it a sense of vague familiarity and terror, and George knew that it was not just the brilliant work of the movie producers. He had heard that name before… not only the name, in fact, but that mechanized voice and that breathing.

Where and when, he could not exactly tell. And yet, common sense told him he could not have. It was a brand new movie, and he was watching it for the first time.

"_It must have been an advert or something_," he told himself, but was still unable to shake off that nagging feeling throughout the whole show. He KNEW that he had heard the name before somewhere… he knew… where?

Walking out of the cinema amidst the cries of Dave McFly begging his younger brother to "pass over the popcorn", George suddenly got it. He remembered that strange creature which had appeared in front of his bed during the wee hours of the morning on the eighth of November 1955. The creature that claimed to be Darth Vader from the planet Vulcan. Who threatened to melt his brain if he didn't go to the dance with Lorraine and… wait a minute. _Vulcan_? Wasn't that from _Star Trek_?

Marty stuck out his tongue at Dave, holding his box of popcorn safely out of the latter's reach.

George blinked, confused. _Star Trek _hadn't existed in 1955 either. But he remembered it now, all so clearly, the words that had driven into him true terror of the kind he had never known existed before them. An alien. In his room. With some horrible alien device over his ears that emitted sounds not born of this planet.

Dave lunged towards his brother, who ran safely out of the way. Marty turned and grinned. "Get away from me, earthling! My name is Darth Vader! I'm an extraterrestrial from the planet Vulcan, and you can't have my popcorn!"

But at the same time, George knew that it just couldn't have been possible. The mere idea of an actual alien doing what the so-called Darth Vader had done was simply ridiculous.

Dave called to his sister for help, and seconds later the two were chasing Marty for the coveted popcorn. Marty yelled as he tripped and fell, the popcorn box flying out of his hand. "DAAAAAAD!"

George didn't hear. He was too busy thinking, his mind finally reaching the obvious solution to his problem. _Star Wars _and _Star Trek _had both not been around that morning in 1955. Therefore, he reasoned that the fact he had known of both before their creation meant that it must have been a dream. Which could only mean one thing…

"_Cool_," George thought, a small grin spreading out over his face, "_I can predict the future_."

**THE END**


	2. Fire

Disclaimer: Once again, I don't own BttF. And neither do I own its cast and crew, their family members nor their pet hamsters, if they have any. Because, in the words of Lisa Fagan, BttF belongs to Bob and Bob and Bob the Builder. Okay, maybe not the last one…

**FIRE**

12 November 1955, 9 something pm

_"Oh, and one more thing. If you two ever have kids, and one of them, when he's eight years old, accidentally sets fire to the living room rug... go easy on him."_

**_21 years later…_**

Late June 1977

Hill Valley, California

Marty McFly was feeling very bored. And very hungry. And very bored. His parents, as usual, had gone to work. His brother, David, had fallen asleep on the couch with his mouth hanging open, and his sister was hidden somewhere under the mountain of homework her merciless teachers had doled out. So it was just him and no one else.

The almost-nine-year-old sighed as he walked from one end of the house to the other, looking fro some form of entertainment. And then, he caught sight of the opened packet of marshmallows hanging from his brother's right hand, which was draped over the sofa.

The boy's eyes lit up.

Trying to be quiet, a grin forming on his face, Marty sneaked over and cautiously removed the marshmallows from Dave's grip. Then, prize in hand, he returned to the safety of his bedroom where he popped one into his mouth.

It tasted all right, but he thought it would be much better…roasted. Still hanging on to the packet, he snuck out to the kitchen. The stove loomed over him menacingly, and he was far too short to reach the 'on' switch.

"Okay, maybe not that…" Rummaging around in the kitchen cupboard, Marty finally found what he had been looking for. Standing on tiptoe, he yanked out the box of candles, bringing various other objects crashing to the floor along with it. He winced as his brother's yell reached him.

"MARTIN! I'M TRYING TO SLEEP!" So saying, Dave clamped a pillow over his ear. Linda started shouting something about the teachers murdering her if she did not hand in her work on time and with all that noise, how was she supposed to concentrate?

David tightened his grip on the pillow in response and resumed snoring. His book, which he had been reading, fell to the ground.

The coast was clear. Leaving the mess behind on the kitchen floor, the youngest McFly kid scooped up the box of candles, picked up the marshmallows and a matchbox and started a search for a suitable cooking spot. He finally settled on the coffee table in the living room.

Marty took out one match and one candle, and proceeded to light the latter and stick it to the table surface. Then, grinning in excitement, he dug in the packet for a marshmallow. Taking one out, he began to regret not getting something to hold it with… but hands were as good as anything. Gripping the first white wonder between his fingers and above the candle flame, Marty waited impatiently for it to show some signs of roasted-ness. This was taking forever. He moved it a bit closer to the flame, but did not get any more results.

All he could do now was wait. Bored, Marty's eyes wandered around the room, his hand still in that tiring position over the candle. Not very far off, he saw David snoring away with saliva trickling down one side of his mouth. One of his hands was dangling down the side of the sofa, as was a leg. His other leg was hanging off the end of the couch, and his remaining hand holding the pillow over his ears. Marty giggled. Talk about a strange sleeping position…

A sudden pain in his fingers brought him out of his thoughts. Turning his attention back to the marshmallow, he dropped it with a yell and watched as the now well-and-truly-roasted marshmallow fell ablaze to the ground, landing smack on top of David's book which lay open on the living room rug.

Eyes wide with horror, Marty looked on as the paperback book began to burn; until the urgency of the situation finally hit home and he ran over to his brother's side to try wake him up. On his way there, he accidentally knocked over the candle, which fell and added to the blaze. Marty gave a yelp as he saw it.

Coughing through the smoke, he shook David hard. "Dave… wake up…"

"Go away," his brother muttered back sleepily.

"Dave, the rug is on fire!"

"WHAT?" David sat up suddenly; smelt smoke and then saw the fire burning away merrily on the living room rug. Jumping up, he ran to the kitchen to collect water to douse the flames as Marty tagged along.

"You are in such big trouble. Can't I even sleep for a while without you burning the house down?"

"It's only the rug!"

"Whatever!" David tried to splash water onto the fire, but more than half of its contents landed on his brother.

"Get out of my way! Go call Dad or something and tell him what you just did!"

"Ok." Dripping wet, Marty headed over to the next room to use the phone. His sister was still so engrossed in her homework that she had not noticed the fire at all.

The telephone rang.

"Hello?"

"Dad? Marty here. Uh…The living room rug's on fire…"

"WHAT?!"

"It was an accident! I was roasting marshmallows when one caught fire and fell. Dave told me to…"

"You set the LIVING ROOM RUG on FI…"

There was a pause, and Marty wondered what was going on. "Dad, you still there?"

"Marty, how old are you this year?"

"Eight. I'll be nine next week. But what's this got to…"

"Uh, never mind. Just… try to put out the fire, ok? I'll be back soon."

There was a click on the other end of the line. Still hanging onto the phone, Marty wondered what his age had to do with the fire... or anything, for that matter. Shrugging it off as another one of his father's strange moments, he put down the telephone and walked back outside where Dave had already managed to put out the flames. The rug was still fairly intact, with the exception of a really black hole in its centre.

Marty approached his brother, who was sitting on the couch with an expression that said he had no idea as to what was going on.

"Well?"

"Dad said he's coming."

"Yeah, and when he does you're gonna get it. Why on earth were you roasting MARSHMALLOWS in the HOUSE?"

"I was bored."

"Even then. You could've always called up that girlfriend of yours – what's her name – Jennifer – and asked her to come over and play or something…"

"Jennifer's not my girlfriend!"

Dave snorted. "Yeah, right. You two are always hanging around together. Anyway, don't get into any more trouble. Just stay put and await your doom. Goodnight." Dave lay back down on the sofa, and in a few minutes was snoring away again, leaving his sibling staring helplessly at him.

Barely five minutes later, Marty heard the sound of the door being unlocked. His parents were home. Frantically, he tried to think of some kind of excuse for the fire… but none came to mind. He was in for it now. Behind him, David woke up just as George and Lorraine McFly entered the house.

"Hi Mum. Hi Dad." David suddenly changed his tone and volume. "Do you know what Marty here just did? He set the LIVING ROOM RUG on FIRE. And _I_ was the one who had to put it out. Just because he was feeling so BORED that he decided to roast MARSHMALLOWS in the…

"Dave, I know." George was strangely quiet as he silenced his elder son, who was still fuming away. Marty was staring at them both with his mouth half open. Then his mother spoke.

"Martin Seamus McFly, I thought I told you _never_ to play with matches. I mean, just _look_ at what you did to the r…"

George motioned her to go the bedroom.

"That's ALL?" David yelled in indignation. "You're letting him go just like…"

"David, uh… go back to sleep." George closed the door, leaving Dave staring at it in disbelief. Shaking his head, he returned to his beloved sofa as Marty knelt down beside the door and eavesdropped on his parents.

"Lorraine, don't you remember? That time in 1955, after the Enchantment Under the Sea dance? That guy… what was his name… he said something like, "If you ever have kids and one of them when he's eight sets fire to the living room rug, go easy on him." What WAS that guy's name, anyway?"

"You mean Calvin Klein?"

"Calvin Klein? You expect me to believe that?" George stifled a laugh. "Hello, that was like, 1955, CK didn't even exist… Oh wait, now I remember. Marty. That's whom we named our son after. But… eight years old, living room rug, fire… I mean, what are the CHANCES that it's just a coincidence?"

"George, I don't even remember what he said. What's more, I doubt you do too. You probably remembered it wrongly or something." Lorraine sighed. "You know, I think you've been working too hard these few days. Go take a break, okay? I'll go cook lunch now."

Marty scooted out of the way as his mother left the room.

"_Okay, that was weird_," he thought, going to his bedroom to look for something to do.

"My parents named me after their friend. Cool." He dragged out a box of Lego and dumped the contents on the floor to the great annoyance of his sleeping brother.

Meanwhile, George was sitting on his bed feeling totally perplexed. He knew his memory wasn't failing, and he wasn't too stressed or anything. He heard what he heard. 24 years ago, someone had clearly predicted that their eight-year-old kid would set fire to their living room rug. And it had just happened. Come to think of it, he had never seen that guy again.

And George knew that that wasn't all of it. There was also that whole Darth Vader issue which had, coincidently, happened in that exact same week in 1955. And the more he thought about it, the surer he was that it had not been a dream. For a moment he considered telling his wife about it, but decided against it. She might think him mad. Darth Vader from Vulcan. Indeed. He remembered the alien pointing something that looked like… a hairdryer? Yeah, right. Maybe he WAS going mad. But still…

George shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts.

There was definitely something going on here. In this house. In this family. But why to him, of all people? Then again, it could make a really good background for a science fiction story…

"MARTY! WHAT DID YOU DO TO THE KITCHEN?"

Lorraine's shout woke up David, who started swearing away. Marty gave a yell of shock, remembering the mess he had left in the kitchen.

"_At least that wasn't predicted_," George thought, sighing, getting up to go see what was going on this time.

**THE END**


	3. Teacher's Kid

Disclaimer: Universal Studios hasn't given me the rights to the movie, so I still don't own BttF. If I did, I'd be rich and actually own a flute.

**TEACHER'S KID**

April 1895

Hill Valley, California

Class was over. For once, Verne Newton Brown didn't bother to wait for his mother as he joined the other students filing out of the classroom. He just wanted to be home. To be away from it all. Away from the classmates who always seemed to derive such fun from the fact that his mother was his teacher. 'Teacher's Kid,' they called him. And away from those other classmates who kept referring to him as the 'guy with the crazy father'.

Somehow, his brother did not get it as bad. Jules actually seemed to be enjoying life. He had friends, and was one of the more popular ones in the class… mostly because of his exceptionally good grades that caused many to want to be associated with him in hopes that it might help their own work. Verne, on the other hand, was the one who was always seen sitting quietly at the back of the classroom. Clara had begun to notice something... but he knew that no one would ever understand how he felt.

Arriving home, Verne headed straight to the bookshelf and pulled out a book, dumping it on the table beside it. Reaching his hand into the space behind, he felt for the knob he knew was there and turned it… causing the bookshelf to swing open and reveal the secret room beyond.

Verne entered as he had done so many times before. Switching on the computer, he pushed himself around on the swivel chair waiting for the PC to boot and reflecting on the misfortunes of life. His life, in particular.

Firstly, there was the lack of freedom to do the things he enjoyed, such as computer games, watching TV, playing on his PlayStation 5 and his beloved Game Boy. All that had to be confined to the secret room where he was now, which had its windows painted over so that no one else would know about the existence of a roomful of stuff that had not yet been invented. The room that ran on electricity produced by a generator his father had created. It was his favourite hideout, the only place where he could feel any sense of belonging.

And then, of course, was the train in the backyard, his family's greatest secret that ironically was kept in full view of everyone else who might pass by. The flying train. The flying, time travelling train. People had begun to notice the way-too-colourful vehicle behind the Brown house. Emmett Brown had tried to keep it secret for as long as he could, but there soon came a time when it would no longer fit inside the makeshift laboratory he had constructed around the section of no-longer-in-use train tracks that ran near the house. None besides its owners had any idea what the train could do, though. For most of them, it was simply a brightly painted vehicle with many strange gadgets fixed all over it.

But there was no hiding the pairs of three sonic booms many of those people had heard on the fourth of January that year. It was a sound that none had ever known, and the fact that it came from the general direction of the Brown house served only to start several suspicious rumours about its occupants and their activities.

Jules didn't care. He never cared about much, as long as he did well in school. Verne, on the other hand, cared a lot. It wasn't just about himself, but the rest of his family too. He knew how his father had been labelled the local crackpot back (or forward) in the future, and if the same was going to happen here too in the nineteenth century, he didn't foresee many good times for them.

The computer was on. Verne inserted the Red Alert 3 disk into the CPU and clicked 'play' on the small screen that popped up, then waited for the game to load. The boy sighed.

He didn't see why he had to live here. In this place, in this time. He knew he didn't belong, somehow, unlike the rest of his family who seemed to fit perfectly. Verne didn't understand why he couldn't have a normal life like everyone else he knew.

For one, he didn't have a normal birthday. 26th December – just the day and the month. The year wasn't fixed; it all depended on what time period they happened to be in. Currently, he was about 6-and-a-half years old. He couldn't know for sure. No one was keeping count, himself included. And the date was obviously nothing to go by, though it wasn't probably more than a few weeks off.

Red Alert 3 finished loading and the main menu appeared, supported with music in the background. Verne moved the cursor over 'Single Player' and clicked. Of course, Multiplayer was out of the question. The Internet didn't even exist yet, and wouldn't for a century or so. And they didn't own a LAN. He wanted one. Maybe for his next birthday, whenever _that_ was.

He clicked on 'Skirmish' and then got round to choosing a map, finally settling on one of the urban ones. He liked them. They reminded him of a time that had not yet come. A time he wanted to belong to.

"Username?" the screen prompted.

Verne hesitated for a moment, and then typed in, 'Teacher's Kid', more out of bitterness than anything. That's what everyone called him, anyway. He selected the nation he'd be using and then clicked 'Start' and waited.

And that was another thing. He was the only one in his whole class who knew how to type, having taught himself how to. It was a feat many children his age of the twenty-first century would have deemed impossible, let alone one of the nineteenth, but Verne had done it, somehow, fuelled by his deep longing to belong to the future.

He had seen things most of them never would. He knew people from so many different decades. Others would probably think him lucky… but Verne felt far from lucky. They could have his life if they wanted.

The game was taking forever to load and the background music was getting irritating.

Verne was about to swing his swivel chair against the wall in frustration when the family pet Einstein the dog entered the room and he changed his mind.

"Hi Einie!" Verne greeted, sounding much more cheerful than he felt as the animal lay down by his feet and gazed lovingly at his master through his hair-covered eyes, tongue dangling out as usual.

For a while, Verne allowed himself to smile.

"_There has to be a way out of this_, " he thought, staring wistfully at the painted windows. One day, when he was older, he was going. He was taking the time machine and leaving this place. This time.

"Someday, Einie. Someday," Verne murmured, stroking the dog's fur as it panted.

"He's on the computer again!" he heard Jules yell from somewhere outside in reply to a question on his whereabouts.

"Someday."

And the game started.

**THE END**

Review! Thanks.


	4. Pizza

Disclaimer: I do not, have never, and will never own BttF.  
  
When someone starts writing a BttF fic from the POV of a pizza, you can tell that the author's finally lost it.  
  
Inspired by the pizza close up in part 2. Oh, the mushrooms, the cheese... I was like, drooling over the TV...  
  
PIZZA  
  
2015  
  
Hill Valley, California  
  
Hi everyone! Meet me. The pizza. Everything started that day, when I was resting nice and comfy in my miniscule size inside the pizza wrapper. The freezer was so nice and cold! I shivered in delight... and then someone picked me up. It was a woman, I think. Couldn't really tell. Anyway, she picked me up and dumped me in the trolley. I think I was on offer.  
  
After quite a while, I heard a door open.  
  
"Welcome home, Jennifer," said the electronic thingy at the doorway.  
  
"How 'bout ME?" I silently screamed. "Why don't you greet me too, huh?" I fumed. But of course no one heard and I was placed at the back of some other freezer. Ooh, what a nice cold temperature! I saw the ice cream tub next to me.  
  
"Hello!" I said. But the ice cream didn't reply. So either it was being rude or the freezer had frozen its brains. I got scared. I hoped the freezer wouldn't get my brains too. I don't have much, and I can't afford to lose any.  
  
A few days later, someone took me out of the freezer, removed my wrapper and dumped me into the microwave.  
  
It was hot. I started sweating like crazy. It got hotter and hotter and I felt myself expanding. I was growing! I could feel the cheese melting... it felt so nice. And the mushrooms... oh, the mushrooms! My crust got crispy and I started feeling yummy. There was a 'ding' sound and the microwave opened. Someone took me out, and I could see the steam radiating off me. I smelt so good!  
  
The person placed me on the table and two more homo sapiens crowded round. I could see myself now... oozing with cheese and covered with mushrooms. Ooh, the cheese! And the mushrooms... oh, the mushrooms!  
  
"Eat me!" I murmured happily, unaware of anything else.  
  
The three people each took a slice of me, and suddenly I could see things from all the different portions. The three mouths came closer.  
  
"Eat me!" I whispered in my bliss. The teeth came closer... I started feeling a little scared. Those teeth... so sharp... they could tear me apart in one bite...  
  
Closer and closer... that guy didn't brush his teeth...  
  
Closer and closer... I was suddenly overwhelmed with panic.  
  
"NO!"  
  
None heard as the teeth closed down on me. I was plunged into a world of darkness... then, light. Just light.  
  
"Of course!" I thought, remembering. "'All pizza goes to heaven!'"  
  
Delighted, I waited, wondering what would happen next. I was picked up and put down on another table.  
  
"Pizza for dinner today, guys."  
  
Oh oh. This was not good.  
  
They pulled me apart again. Again I saw the approaching mouths. The teeth.  
  
"NO! How can they do this to me! They can't! NO! They ca..."  
  
- Transmission Ended -  
  
The End  
  
What d'you think? Stupid? Pointless? Just plain weird? What-the-****-does- this-got-to-do-with-bttf?  
  
REVIEW!! Thanks. It will be greatly appreciated.  
  
To stoko981: thanks for the suggestion, though I doubt its possible that George would remember someone from 30 years ago... I cant even remember some of the pple I saw 5 years ago.  
  
To jdburns: thanks for all the reviews!  
  
To bttc: Clarence? Ok... 


	5. Manure

Disclaimer: I don't own Back to the Future. E tuh'd ufh Pylg du dra Vidina. Get the point? *Computer's spell check goes crazy*  
  
I know this fic is kind of stupid. Then again, most of my fics are. I'll try to make No. #6 saner. Hopefully I'll succeed. :D  
  
Tales of the Flux Capacitor: Ficlet #5  
  
Manure  
  
12 November 1955  
  
It was a dark and stormy night.  
  
Mr. Jones closed the back of the manure truck and got into the driver's seat in front for the last trip of the night. He hit the gas pedal, and the vehicle started moving along the streets.  
  
"Hill Valley - A Nice Place to Live," he read as he passed the advertisement. It had been yet another long day for him... now all he had to do was dump off this last load of manure and he could go back home to rest. Mr. Jones sighed, thinking of his nice warm bed as the truck entered the mouth of the tunnel.  
  
There was something going on at the other end. Squinting a little, he managed to make out a car with someone hanging onto its back. The vehicle was dodging left and right, as if trying to shake off its unwanted passenger. As the manure truck got closer, Mr. Jones realized that both seemed to be in their late teens.  
  
"Kids," he thought, letting out a small snort of disproval. "Don't they know how dangerous that is? One or both of them might get kil..." Mr. Jones' train of thought was interrupted as he noticed something else for the first time. The guy hanging onto the car was standing on a board. A FLYING board.  
  
He rubbed his eyes and looked again. He had not seen wrong the first time. It WAS a flying board... and a pink one at that.  
  
Unable to concentrate on his driving any longer, Mr. Jones watched in amazement as the flying person did some sort of weird stunt where for a moment his feet on the board nearly pointed to the ceiling and he snatched something out of the car... all the time still holding on...  
  
This was not happening. Maybe they were making a movie here or something...Mr. Jones had his mouth wide-open, mind totally focused on the events taking place before him. He saw a string of ribbons fall hanging down from the sky. The guy grabbed hold of it, and he and his pink flying board were both lifted up to goodness knows where... Mr. Jones turned his attention back to the road.  
  
The car was heading straight towards him.  
  
Mr. Jones brain went into overdrive. He hit the horn hard as he swung the steering wheel as hard as he could... anything to get out of the way... he'd make it... no he wouldn't... yes he would... no he wou...  
  
Mr. Jones closed his eyes and waited for impact. He thought he heard the driver of the other car yelling, "S***!"...  
  
There was a sickening thud as the two vehicles collided, and another as his head hit the windscreen. He saw blood. He smelt blood. He tasted blood. He was going to black out any moment now. This couldn't be happening to him. Somebody was going to pay for this.  
  
Behind him, the load of manure landed on the unfortunate car driver.  
  
"Manure!" Mr. Jones heard. "I HATE manure!"  
  
He gave a small smile.  
  
"Serves him right," he thought.  
  
And blackness overwhelmed him.  
  
The End.  
  
It's review time once again...  
  
This was saner than 'Pizza', right? RIGHT? *looks worried* It has to be. I mean, how many things are weirder than a talking pizza...  
Review replies:  
  
Stoko981: Thanks for the review! For some reason, I found it funny...hee hee.  
  
Mrs. Snape: Ok...  
  
Lisa Fagan: You found it funny? Yay!  
  
Back to the Chaos: I don't know what the pizza's name is. Maybe it's Clarence. Why don't you ask him? No wait... he's dead, you can't do that...  
  
Gina: *grin* What's so sick about a talking pizza? ^_^  
  
CmrAwk: Uh, you're supposed to watch the show before you read the fics. With the exception of the pizza one. Never mind...  
  
Athene: Thanks for your review. I know the pizza one was freaky... it was MEANT to be freaky... anyway.  
  
Raan: What do you mean, confusing? Basically the pizza got eaten and went to pizza heaven where it got eaten again. *pause* Yup, that's it. 


	6. Organic Fertiliser

Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN BTTF OR ANIMAL FARM OR CLARENCE.  
  
If you thought #4 was freaky, wait till you read THIS one. *evil laughter*. I've developed a sudden liking for fics written from the POV of inanimate objects.  
  
Thanks to stoko981 for the uh... suggestion. Thanks also to my science teacher for teaching me about... you'll find out.  
  
Ok, this is a spin off from #5, but I'm calling it Ficlet #6 anyway for convenience. I'll try to make the next one with the same amount of sanity as #1-3. I'll try. Promise!  
  
Yoda: Do or do not, there is no 'try'.  
  
*rolls eyes* Whatever.  
  
ORGANIC FERTILISER  
  
"Hi everyone! Know who I am? No, not the pizza, though I have bits of pizza in me. I'm the MANURE. The star of all three BttF movies. But they didn't put my name in the credits. I suppose I couldn't have been able to bear the fame, though.  
  
So I'm the manure. You know, organic fertilizer. That's what some people call me. I think 'manure' sounds better.  
  
You want to know my life story? Well, ok. Actually, the first part is kind of blurry. Anyway, it all started with this cow. Her name was Daisy. One day, she was hungry so she went to eat grass. She found some pizza in the grass so she ate it too. All the food was chewed, mixed with cow saliva and digested.  
  
It went through Daisy's gullet and got swirled round in her stomach where all the important nutrients were passed through the intestinal wall into her blood. The rest got sent through her small intestine, and then the large intestine where the water got absorbed. And then, the most important part... the digested food oozed through her anus, and I was BORN! YAY!  
  
After Daisy took care of my creation, I lay there on the ground for quite a long time. And then, Mr. Jones came to save me! He's my hero! He's also the farmer at Manor Farm. He scooped me up and dumped me into his truck. It hurt. But I couldn't do anything.  
  
You want to know how I know all that? All the facts and stuff? Well, I'll tell you. I get the information from my fellow comrade manure. We have this thing called the MTCS (Manure Telepathic Communications System), and its really good. With it, I can talk to manure from all over the world!  
  
My name is Manny, by the way. Short for Manure. It's a very common manure name. When Mr. Jones dropped me into his truck, I merged with another load of manure. His name was Clarence. We became good friends.  
  
That night, Mr. Jones started driving us somewhere. I didn't know where exactly. Clarence and I chatted through the MTCS during the ride. It was fun.  
  
The truck went into a tunnel. It was so bright! I could see someone flying around on a pink hoverboard. I know it's a hoverboard because one of my manure friends from the future told me. The MTCS can go through time and space, see.  
  
The hoverboard guy was holding onto a car. We were getting nearer and nearer! We were going to crash! The hoverboard guy flew off. But the car continued coming!  
  
"WE'RE GONNA DIE!" Clarence and I yelled through the MTCS. All the manure in the world must have heard us, because we yelled really loud.  
  
We crashed! And we flew through the air and landed on this guy. I didn't like him. He was MEAN. He kept yelling that he hated me. Well, I hated him too. I stuffed myself into his mouth. Humans don't like it when we do that. This one started screaming even more, so I stuffed more of myself into his mouth. Then he swallowed... and I went down, and down, and down...  
  
Clarence and I were separated. I hope he's okay.  
  
Anyway, I journeyed through this guy's digestive system too. His name was Biff. At least, that's what they told me via the MTCS. I've only gone through Daisy's digestive system before, but I've read about this famous load of manure who went through a human before. He wrote a story called 'Journey to the Centre of the Stomach' and posted it on MTCS.net, our official website dedicated to us, the organic fertiliser. It's all about manure! I think it's a great site. The story got 100 reviews.  
  
So I went down this guy's gullet, got swirled around in his stomach, went through his small intestine and ended up in his large intestine where I stayed for a while. I made more friends there! There was this blob of digested food in with me. His name was Clarence too.  
  
Suddenly, I saw this bright light, and I remembered. The worst thing that can happen to manure. The toilet! This guy was going to pass me out! I was scared. No manure has ever survived the toilet before. Maybe I've been reading too many horror stories at MTCS.net, but all manure know that once the water touches us, we're dead.  
  
I was REALLY scared. I told all the other manure about it. They were scared together with me. At least I still have friends.  
  
Something was pushing me! It was trying to make me get out!  
  
"NOOOOOO!" I screamed to the other manure. They told me to hold on, said I could do it, said that if I put my mind to it I could accomplish anything... but I couldn't do anything!  
  
I felt myself falling, falling, falling... and then I splashed into the toilet! I panicked! It was manurekind's worst nightmare! There was water all over me! There was water in front of me! There wa..."  
  
Transmission Ended -  
  
The End  
  
So... what do you think? Is it weirder than #4? =D Or what? PLEASE REVIEW!!  
  
Stoko981: Thanks for the idea! *grins evilly*. It WAS a suggestion, wasn't it? *tries to look innocent*  
  
Back to the Chaos: The pizza's name wasn't Clarence. The other manure's name was.  
Bye for now. 


	7. The First Time Traveller

Disclaimer: I don't own BttF. If I did, the theme song would have recorder parts in it.  
  
Ficlet #7:  
  
The First Time Traveller  
  
1895  
  
Hill Valley, California  
  
They had heard the news... all of them. Every single dog in Hill Valley was aware that tonight was the night that HE was coming to visit. Einstein the Dog. The greatest of them all; for he was the world's first time traveller.  
  
Every dog down to the smallest puppy knew his name, and his tale. Of how he arrived one night from the sky all in a blaze of light. They had all stared up in awe as the door of the flying train opened, and HE stepped out, his master following behind.  
  
The dog from the future. 'Einie', as his friends called him.  
  
A hundred years he had travelled, into the past to live with them.  
  
And there, he had told them all the great stories of his life.  
  
They knew, for instance, of that famous day that had yet to happen. Time and again he had told them about it. Of how his master had invented a time machine, and he, Einstein the Dog, then still barely out of puppyhood, had been the first to go in it.  
  
There was no dog in the world who had been as scared as he was then, stepping into the strange machine. It had started moving faster and faster, with no one to save him, and yet he had braved it through, as any self- respecting dog would. Yes, even when bright flashes of electricity appeared all over the vehicle, he had stayed courageous, right to the end.  
  
Arriving one minute in the future, Einie had become the world's first time traveller.  
  
Sure, it was a man who had invented the machine, but due to the cowardice of the human race, the first time traveller was not one of man, but canine kind.  
  
The dogs of Hill Valley all knew; and gazed up in admiration at their hero. Every puppy longed to be like him; a dog who had made such a great contribution to science.  
  
And so, when the night came, they were all ready. Each and every kennel had been cleaned out, ready for inspection by the great Einie. For the first time in a long while, the residents of Hill Valley found their dogs strangely eager for a bath.  
  
For each wanted to look his best when The First Time Traveller came.  
  
He was escaping, the rumours went. He was going to run away from his home, steal the time machine and go back to the future from whence he came. But before that, he was coming to visit them. Them, the lowly, unimportant dogs.  
  
And they were ready.  
1895  
  
Hill Valley, California  
  
Jules banged on the bedroom door of his younger brother.  
  
"Verne, get outta there! We have to go walk the dog."  
  
There was a muffled response. Jules swung open the door to see his brother still lying on his bed and playing his Gameboy. Without looking up, Verne spoke.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Didn't you hear me? Einie needs a walk. It's our turn tonight. Come on."  
  
"'K." Still holding onto his Nintendo game, Verne got slowly out of bed, eyes still fixated on the small screen.  
  
"And put that away unless you want the whole town staring at you. Gameboys haven't been invented yet."  
  
Verne glanced quickly at his brother's footwear before retorting, "And neither have Nike shoes."  
  
Sighing, Jules changed his shoes and walked out of the house.  
  
"Come on, Einie."  
  
There was a welcome bark as the dog bounced out after him, tongue hanging out as usual.  
  
"Verne! You coming?"  
  
"Yeah, uh... wait, let me save the game..."  
  
About five minutes later, the two boys and Einie were walking around the park. The place seemed strangely full of dogs; and stranger still, none were barking. Instead, they were all standing in two straight lines to the side of them.  
  
The only one barking was Einstein the Dog.  
  
Verne shot a puzzled look at his older brother. The latter seemed just as bewildered.  
  
"What's with all the dogs?"  
  
"Dunno." Jules paused. "I don't like this. Let's go somewhere else. Come on, Einie."  
  
The dog refused to move. He just stood there, barking away to his doggy audience.  
  
"EINIE!"  
  
No response.  
  
There was a break in the barking; and suddenly, The First Time Traveller took off running.  
  
"What the..."  
  
"Come back, Einie!" Jules yelled, dashing after the animal, his brother running behind.  
  
"What d'you think you're doing? Bad dog! Come back, Einie!"  
  
He wouldn't come back. Oh no. He was going, he was.  
  
As he ran, Einie went over his escape plan one more time.  
  
He would take the time train; and he would leave. Probably for the future. He knew some really cool dogs there.  
  
And he could become a secret agent in the worldwide battle between cats and dogs.  
  
'Total Annihilation', that's what his code name shall be.  
  
He, Einstein the Dog, would be famous.  
  
"Jules! He's heading for the train!"  
  
"What on earth... EINIE!"  
  
The dog turned. Did he hear something? Confused, he stopped running and perked up his ears.  
  
Someone jumped him and yelled.  
  
"GOT YOU! Bad dog, Einie! Never run away again, you hear? Bad dog!"  
  
Einie whined as Jules fixed a leash on him.  
  
No... how could they do this to him? They had spoilt all his plans, all his wonderful plans...  
  
"There's always a next time," Einie thought, trying to reassure himself as Jules and Verne chained him to his kennel.  
  
"Bad dog," Verne scolded before following his brother back into the house.  
  
"Yup, there's always a next time," Einie thought, resigning himself to his current fate.  
  
And when that time came, he would be ready. No longer would he let those pitiful humans who called themselves his masters defeat him.  
  
For he would never be defeated.  
  
Not he, The First Time Traveller.  
  
Oh no.  
  
Not he.  
  
The End  
  
Please review! ^_^ It will be greatly appreciated.  
  
Space Toaster: That's gross? *grins* Have you read 'The Cinnamon Bun'? It's another of those written-from-the-POV-of-a-food-item fic.  
  
Stoko: Yup, you inspired that. ^_^ And why is everyone asking me to do a fic where they find out Calvin=Marty??? :S Ok, maybe I will. But I need ideas.  
  
Back to the Chaos: Thanks for reviewing! Update your stuff! And get part 2 of the twisted editions up soon. Please?  
  
CmrAwks: What d'you mean, it made more sense than the pizza one? I can't tell the difference.  
  
Flaming Trails: Thanks for reviewing! And post your version of the Pip story soon. I want to read. =D  
  
Docnov121955: Don't tell me I'm getting famous for writing fics from the POV of inanimate objects... you and Flaming Trails were talking? On chat or telephone or what?  
  
CrystalFlower: 4 and 6 were MEANT to be weird. Thanks for your review!  
  
Ectodude: There's no point. ^_^  
  
Lady Shadowcat: I SO agree with you about the pizza! =D How could they do such a thing??? *drools* They should cut the pizza close up from Part 2. And the cake close up from Part 1. And the food close up in Part 3. *gets hungry* Oh, and I use British spelling so fertiliser has an 's' in it instead of 'z'. At least, that's what my teachers say. 


	8. Eastwood Ravine

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own BttF. I just got the Part 3 script, though. =D I found it at www.scriptcrawler.com. They only had the fourth draft for Part 1 and no Part 2. I also have the Spaceballs script, the Matrix script, as well as the one for Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure. ^_^ My disclaimers are getting more and more boring and out of point.

Tales of the Flux Capacitor #8

Eastwood Ravine 

            The detention room.

            To Marty McFly, it was almost his second home. He had been in there way too often, mostly for being late for school. It wasn't really his fault, though. He never intended to be late, but somehow he just never could arrive on time. Something would always happen to stop him from doing so… a slow watch, a traffic jam, a faulty alarm clock… the list went on. It just so happened that the principal could not tolerate tardiness of any sort, and Marty so happened to be the current record holder for the most number of late comings in the history of Hill Valley High.

            This time, however, his reason for being once again sent to the detention room had nothing whatsoever to do with his punctuality.

            He should have known. What he did was stupid. But that day, when the teacher handed out the history assignments, when he read that question… he had been unable to resist the temptation.

            'Write a report on the history of Eastwood Ravine.'

            And Marty had done just that, despite the countless warnings going off in his head about what the teacher would do to him.

            They wanted the history of Eastwood Ravine. And he gave them just that. The true history, no details left out. Marty had enjoyed it. Grinning away throughout the whole report, he had completed it, and handed in an almost completely different story from everyone else.

            And it had landed him, for the umpteenth time, in the principal's office. Marty could still remember too clearly Mr. Strickland's voice booming out at him, as the former waved Marty's paper violently in front of the teen's face, glaring at him with hatred in his eyes…

~-~-~

            "Mr. McFly, is this a history report… or a SCIENCE FICTION STORY?"

            Marty was rooted to the spot, unable to reply, suddenly regretting very much what he had written on that paper as Mr. Strickland continued speaking.

            "Did you think it was _funny_ to make up a complete lie about the history of the ravine? Or did you just trying to be CREATIVE?"

            Marty swallowed nervously.

"It wasn't a lie," he thought, taking a sudden interest in the principal's desk.

"THIS," Mr. Strickland spat, making as if to rip Marty's work in half, "is a mockery of the assignment! I would VERY MUCH like to know what time travel has to do with some poor guy who fell into the ravine after a train accident!"

"It's all right there on the paper," Marty mumbled to himself, not loud enough for the principal to hear.

"And shouldn't you know by now that such reports are not supposed to be written in the first person? Not only that, but I am VERY sure that the man's name was not Clint Eastwood! I suppose you thought that was funny too, huh? Well, it's NOT. I don't think so, and neither does your history teacher. I would like this report to be REDONE, PROPERLY, by the end of detention today. DO YOU HEAR ME, MCFLY?"

Marty jumped, startled.

"Y… yes sir."

Mr. Strickland thrust Marty's report at him. Slowly, the 17-year-old turned towards the door to leave.

"And I better see you at detention later, or else!"

For a moment, Marty paused in his steps, his heart sinking at his principal's last words. He had been meaning to meet Jennifer that day… but he supposed that would have to wait…

So now, a few hours later, Marty was sitting in the detention room, made to write something he knew wasn't true. There was nothing he could do about it. Just a few minutes more and he'd be free to go…

Miserably, Marty looked back down at what he had written.

Eastwood Ravine – originally named Shonash Ravine, renamed in 1885 after a train's locomotive went off the tracks at the uncompleted bridge with someone inside, known only as Mr. Eastwood. His reason for being on a train heading for certain disaster – unknown. What he was thinking, driving the train off the bridge – unknown. His first name – unknown. When it all happened – 1885, exact date unknown. 

That's what they wanted.

So that's what Marty would give them.

THE END

Please review! ^_^ Thanks.

ARGH! What did the ff.net people do to the review viewing order??? Why can't they just leave it like it always was… it's so much harder this way… 

Omega: Animal Farm? Okay…

Merlin: Hi! Thanks for reviewing! ^_^

Liew qi: 'Interesting' as in?

Stoko: Okay… thanks for the idea. Any more? I need inspiration…

Docnov1955: Maybe I will. Someday. 

Back2thechaos: Thanks for your review!

Mrs. Snape: Actually the 7th ficlet was originally supposed to be a relatively long fic entitled 'A BttF Tail' but I decided it was stupid. Sequel… dunno.


	9. Science Fiction Stories

Disclaimer: Look at previous chapter.

Wow.  I looked at all the reviews I got for the last chapter, and realised just how long it has been since I last updated this.

Anyway, I'm back! And yup, this story is sane.  I'm kind of on a sane-fic writing streak at the moment; too stressed to write anything really stupid.

SCIENCE FICTION STORIES

1950

Hill Valley, California

12-year-old George McFly sat in a corner of Lou's Café, slowly twirling his pencil in his right hand as he stared down at the topmost of the sheets of paper before him, his mind searching for a way to write the next sentence of his newest science fiction story.  Every now and then, he would glance nervously up to survey he other occupants of the café, surreptitiously hiding the words on his paper with his hand if any were to come too close.

Few did, however, and George soon lowered his guard.  That was one of the main reasons why he chose to write in the café in the first place.  There, at least, he would not be disturbed, and Lou Caruthers didn't mind the boy as long as he ordered something.  Whereas at home, his stories had too often suffered the fate of the dustbin; torn up and chucked there by his angry father.  Arthur McFly had no patience for his son's writing aspirations.  All he wanted was for George to get a good education that would in turn secure him a good job in future… and in his opinion, writing was a total waste of time.  It didn't help matters much either that George Douglas McFly happened to be his only child.

But nothing his father said could ever stop the boy from dreaming.  At night, in class, during any spare time he had, George dreamt: dreamt of far off planets waiting to be discovered, dreamt of aliens, dreamt of mysterious beings that existed only in his imagination.  And his imagination was by no means limited.  

It was not long before his teachers and classmates began to notice times when he would be staring ahead at nothing in particular, his eyes glazed over and his mind clearly somewhere else.  It was this that earned him the title of 'slacker' – one which would follow him all the way to high school.  And it was this that made him a favourite target of the local school bullies, Biff Tannen and his gang.

So many were the times when they had beat him up and tortured him over anything and everything, always with jeering looks on their faces as they laughed, delighting in his whimpers of agony and pain.  George was at their mercy.  Whatever they wanted, he did for them, and in the end it was always him who got into trouble instead as a result.

He did not dare tell anyone.  He knew his father would only make it worse, for Arthur had been telling him ever since he could remember that if he did not stand up for himself, people would take advantage of him.  As for his mother, her first reaction would probably be to march straight to the principal's office and tell him that her son was being bullied in school.  George definitely did not want that to happen.  He could imagine all too well Biff's reaction if he were to tell his mother about it… and the principal, Mr. Coleridge, didn't exactly like him either.

Somehow, George managed to get by, attributing his bruises to miscellaneous accidents whenever his mother asked about them.  He dreaded school, he dreaded coming home.  Everyday, the only moment he looked forward to was that period of time between the end of school and the time he was expected home, the period of time he would spend in Lou's Café taking refuge in his writing.  It was his only escape.  It was the only time he could feel anywhere near happy, forgetting for a moment the harsh reality of live as he immersed himself in his stories.  There, for once at least, he was in control.

Of course, that didn't mean that he was any safer from his troubles.  The café was a public place, open to all of Hill Valley, and anyone could come in…

George yelped as his papers were suddenly yanked away from under his nose.

"Hey McFly, what're you writing?"

…including Biff.

"Give that back!" George cried, reaching out futilely to try and grab his story back.

"Oh yeah? And what if I don't? What're you gonna do, run and tell your mummy?"

Biff's three friends sniggered, surrounding George so that he could not escape.

"What's this?" Biff continued, smirking as he turned the paper the right way round to read.

George unsuccessfully tried to get out of the human barrier the three boys had created around him.  "Don't!"

"'They know where we are,'" Biff read off the first sheet, a mocking grin on his face.  "'It's only a matter of time before the aliens come and get us.  Perhaps that's why some of us left for Earth and set up lives there, away from all this.  They know they're safe there, safer than us here in space.  But when an attack comes… there'll be no escape.'"

Biff snorted derisively.  "Aliens, McFly? And I suppose _you're_ going to be the hero and save us all? 'When an attack comes'?"

His friends chortled.

"Give that back!" George repeated, his face considerably redder than before.

Biff Tannen waved the story in the air.  "You want _this_, McFly? This trash?"  A sly grin crept across the boy's face.  "Let him go, Match.  If he wants it… he can come and get it."

With that, Biff turned and dashed out the door with the papers, as George stumbled away from the table after him.

"Give it back, Biff!"

"Why should I? You didn't say 'please'."

"Please!"

Biff stopped running, turning to watch as George approached him, panting away.  He grinned.  He had power.  He liked power.  "You really want this?" he called out.  "If you do…" Crushing the papers up into a ball, Biff threw it as far as he could into the Hill Valley pond.  "…go get it!"

George's face fell.  He had four whole chapters in there… a whole week's work…

Suddenly, without knowing what he was doing or why, George leapt into the pond after his precious writing.  Biff stared after him with an almost amused look.  "What d'you think you're doing, McFly?  You can't even swim!"

George didn't care.  Thrashing his arms and kicking wildly, he somehow managed to stay afloat.  In the several times he did go under, he pushed off the bottom of the pond and surfaced again, gasping for air as he emerged.  He could see the ball of paper sinking slowly down just out of his reach.  Blinded slightly by the water in his eyes, George lunged and grabbed out at the ball, only to push it slightly further away instead.  He fell under the surface again, swallowing an unpleasant mouthful of pond water as he did so.

Up on shore, Biff shook his head and walked away, muttering something and looking very pleased with himself.

A crowd had begun to gather around the pone, and a man ran up to Biff.

"What happened?"

Biff shrugged nonchalantly.  "I don't know.  The stupid kid just jumped in there."

George almost had it.  He lunged out another time and finally secured the ball of paper within his grasp.  Now the problem was… how was he supposed to get out of there? His legs were exhausted from kicking so much; but just as he felt that he could not go on, strong arms lifted him up and brought him safely to shore.

"Hey kid, you all right?"

George nodded a weary reply as he coughed up more water, his rescued story held tightly to his chest.  A voice suddenly called out.

He saw his mother push her way through the crowd to him.  "George! What… Oh my goodness! Are you all right?  What happened?"

"He fell in the pond," George's rescuer replied.  "He'll be fine."

"Oh, George…"

"I'm fine, Mom," the boy said nervously, all too aware of the people around him. 

Susan McFly shook her head and sighed.  "Wait till your father hears about this."  Her eyes narrowed.  "What's that you're holding?"

"Homework," George lied.

"Oh."

~8~8~8~

All three sheets of paper had been soaked through, but most of the handwriting on it was still legible.  George's mother had told him to rest until his father got back; the latter would be late home from work that day.  George was definitely not going to waste all that time sleeping.  Getting out fresh sheets of paper, he proceeded to painstakingly copy his story out before throwing away the wet copy and stashing the new one into his locked drawer.

Climbing finally into bed, he stared up at the ceiling and at the patterns the sunlight was making on it.

And George dreamt.  Dreamt of far off planets waiting to be discovered, dreamt of aliens, dreamt of mysterious beings that existed only in his imagination.  One day, maybe, he would be famous.  He was going to write.  He was going to write his stories and show the world just what he could do.  No more would he be the victim to Biff or anyone else.  One day they would see who he, George McFly, could be.  He was going to write his stories and no one could stop him.  Science Fiction stories.

THE END

Please review!

Jamie McFly: Yeah, I like the eight one too.  As for a fic where Marty's parents find out that he was Calvin… there might be something like that in the last chapter of They've Got Mail, but their memories would be erased after that.  Plot spoiler… ^_^

Omega: It is? Then again, I started writing on ff.net when I was 13, and I'm more than a year older now. Thanks for your review!

Docnov121955: He didn't let out the secret.  He never even mentioned anything to do with time travel.

Stoko: Maybe I'll do that in some later ficlet.  Thanks for reviewing!

PIcaRDMPC: Yup! ^_^

Iria702: Thanks for your review!

Lady Shadowcat: Precisely.  He wants the truth? He can't handle the truth! Um, yeah.

Miss Piratess: 'Mary'? 0.0 Uh, did you mean to type 'Marty' by any chance?

Jd burns: In response to your four reviews: 1) The pizza has everything to do with BTTF because they were eating it in Part 2.  2) Yup, maybe he got whiplash… there's only one way to find out! Call the Hill Valley General Hospital! 3) The seventh one is the best one? I don't know… but its definitely different from the rest.  4) That's life. 

Imogen 262: *stares* You write stories from the point of view of FOOD? Hey, only I'M allowed to do that! No one else is supposed to be weird enough…

Tonia Barone: Yep, it was a Cat and Dogs reference.  And the weird ones were MEANT to freak people out.

HyperCaz: …Interesting acronyms.  Thanks for reviewing!

Long under tree: Thanks for your long review! ^_^ Writing angst… I don't know if They've Got Mail can be counted, or this ficlet.  Yeah, I'm considering writing more serious stuff.  Hence this story.

Anonymous-cat: YOU REVIEWED EVERY SINGLE CHAPTER? *hyperventilates* THANK YOU! =D Then again, your reviews were kind of short.  And you read my cinnamon bun fic too.  Hmm.  Anyway, thanks again! ^_^


	10. I Feel Like Chicken Tonight

Disclaimer: I own neither BTTF nor The Matrix

This was originally part of a chapter of _Real World _(the novelisation of _They've Got Mail), _but I thought it could do fine as a short story too, so…

**I Feel Like Chicken Tonight**

"This is the Construct," Morpheus was saying. "It's our loading program. We can load anything from clothing, to equipment, weapons, training simulations, anything we need."

Marty blinked. "Right now we're inside a computer program?"

"Is it really so hard to believe? Your clothes are gone. Your arms and head have changed. Your hair is gone. Your appearance is now what we call residual self-image. It is the mental projection of your digital self."

Marty looked at himself.

He was a chicken.

"NOOOOOOOOOOO!" he tried to yell, but all that came out were frantic squawks.

Morpheus smiled evilly. "We're very glad to have you with us, Marty," he continued. "The rest of my crew agree, too. We haven't had a good meal in a long time, and we genuinely appreciate your presence at dinner tonight.

Marty panicked. He was a chicken. Pathetically, he flapped his wings. The rest of the Nebuchadnezzar crew were suddenly surrounding him in a closing circle, all armed with large chopping knives and hungry looks on their faces.

Marty darted around in a frenzy as he dodged the knives suddenly coming down on him. He was going to die! He was going to be caught, and roasted, and chopped up to bits, and eaten…

"AAAAAAHHHH!"

Marty hit his bedroom floor with a loud thump, and the images of the Construct dissolved into the reality of his darkened room.

Hyperventilating, he looked wildly around as though Neo or Trinity might suddenly pop up with a chopping knife and have him for dinner; but nothing happened. Just another nightmare… _I should be grateful_, Marty thought. It wasn't often that his nightmares turned out to be real nightmares.

The teen ran a quick check over himself. He was human. Human. Marty suddenly felt stupid for actually seeing the need to make sure.

Climbing back into his bed, Marty lay down and sighed.

That was the last time he was watching _The Matrix_ before bedtime.

THE END. Review?

HyperCaz: Thanks for reviewing!

Stoko: Thanks for your review!

Anonymous-cat: I am so out of things to say because the reviews are all so short. Uh… thanks for reviewing!

Anna: Sorry. The pizza and manure ones were just a product of extreme boredom. But what's wrong with the Einie one? It WAS sane… compared to the others… Thanks for reviewing!

Blind Spot: I haven't seen the early scripts for Part 1; only the original screenplay and the fourth draft along with the final draft, so I didn't know what Arthur was like and just made it up. I don't let people see what I'm writing, too, so when my family was watching the scene in BTTF where George said that he didn't like people reading his writing, everyone looked at me…

DonutHobbes: Here's more!

JayJay015: Thanks for reviewing!

Orinco flow: I'm a big Star Wars/BTTF fan too. Thanks for your review!

Cerrita: Okay, maybe I will sometime. ARGH! I want to watch the AniMatrix. I figure that it would help me greatly in my Matrix fics, considering how I fell asleep during Reloaded and all I know about most if it I got from fanfics…

Hoverboardkid: Thanks! Okay, I wrote more!

Clarafan: Some people didn't like the pizza one. Thanks for reviewing!


	11. Somewhen Out There

Disclaimer: I don't own BTTF.

This is the longest fic in the collection so far. To those of you who want me to take a break from 'serious' fics and write something really lame as I used to... Sorry. This is one of the sanest stories I've done. Maybe the next time...

If this fic feels choppy at times, it was because it was written in installments over several school recesses, i.e. the only time nowadays I'm free enough to do any writing. It's going to be a busy year for me.

Ficlet #11:

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**SOMEWHEN OUT THERE**

5th November 1955  
Hill Valley, California

It was the first of seven nights in the past, and Marty couldn't sleep. He lay awake in the darkness, as from some distance away came the sounds of Doc tinkering in his lab in some other part of the Brown mansion, probably trying to find a way to bring the teen home.

At any time now, Marty could just find himself erased from existence.

Erased from existence... Doc had told him about the ripple effect. Marty still had the chance to change back to normal what his actions that morning had messed up, and he knew this; but he nonetheless couldn't stop feeling that at any moment, the ripple might just catch up with him and wipe him off the face of the space-time continuum without him ever noticing a thing.

Marty wondered what it would be like to not exist... to not _be_. Himself, all his memories, gone just like that, never happened...

How was he to know that saving his father from being knocked down by a car would amount to all this? On hindsight, that had been a stupid thing to do, but back then he had just acted on instinct.

He hadn't really thought that there would be consequences, either. Somehow he'd had the idea that history couldn't be changed; in some time travel stories he'd read, the timeline was fixed and doing anything in the past would mean that that thing had already, originally been done. Marty remembered wondering if that negated human free will, if you were unable to do anything in the past that hadn't been done before. But it hadn't really bothered him. After all, time travel didn't exist.

Until October 26th, 1985, that is.

He had asked Doc what would happen if he couldn't succeed in bring his parents back together and he was truly erased. If he never existed, how could be there to erase himself from existence, then? It had probably been a mistake to ask that question, because Doc immediately launched into a description of several possible outcomes.

The first and most likely was that Marty's entire existence would begin at his point of arrival in 1955 and end when the time ripple caught up with him - the Echo theory. That way, the sole point of his existence would be to erase himself from existence. Irony existed in the space-time continuum.

Or by going back in time, Marty had created and entered an alternate universe. Therefore, by interrupting George and Lorraine's meeting, he simply prevented the existence of this universe's Marty McFly. So when the time came for him to be erased, nothing would happen; but if he did manage to go back to 1985, it would be the 1985 of _this_ universe, where no one knows he exists. However, the simple fact that Marty's photo of his siblings showed his brother already disappearing ruled out this possibility, unless more complicated temporal forces were at work.

A third option was that the space-time continuum found a way to preserve itself by making sure that even without Marty's influence, his parents would still never meet - perhaps being knocked down by the car would kill George, for example.

Fourthly, the creation of a time loop could occur, starting on the 5th of November 1955 and ending on the 26th of October 1985 only to start again. The ripple effect would go on forever: Marty's parents meet, produce him, he goes back and stops them meeting, he doesn't exist, he doesn't go back and stop the meeting, they meet, they produce him, he goes back and stops the meeting... over and over ad infinitum.

Alternatively, the universe might think this all too complicated and find it much more convenient to just blow up.

None of the options seemed remotely appealing, and Marty wondered what people would do if they found out that the fate of the space-time continuum lay in the hands of a time-lost seventeen-year-old.

Marty longed to be back home. His life wasn't the greatest then, but it was still his life and all he had known for the past seventeen years. And it was normal. He craved that normalcy - where things happened as they should; where his parents were the people he had always known and not the two teenagers he had met that day; where even the mere idea of time travel was confined to science fiction stories and not allowed to break through the barriers that separated fiction from reality. Marty wanted that security, the knowledge that the sun would rise the next day and he would still be there to see it.

Everything still felt like a dream. Marty remembered thinking that perhaps at any moment then he would wake up with relief in his bed back in 1985, and none of this would have ever happened. He'd pinched himself several times that day in the hope that that was true, but it was not long before he figured out that if this was a dream - which he was starting to strongly doubt - it was one he couldn't wake himself from, and all he would achieve from pinching himself would be an awful lot of bruises.

Common sense seemed to tell him that all this couldn't be happening. He couldn't have just gone back in time and erased himself from existence like that; the notion was ridiculous. It sounded like something straight out of a Steven Spielberg movie. Everything had been so fast, so sudden...

"Why me?" Marty asked silently to no one in particular. The responsibility for the existence of the family he knew and so much more was a burden too heavy to bear. Everything rested on his actions now in the little time he had left.

He was a 1985 teenager stuck in 1955; there was no one he could talk to, no one who could understand him or his life. Coloured television, Pepsi Free, skateboards, reruns of _The Honeymooners_... At present, he was the only one in the universe who knew of such things.

Marty felt so alone.

For every moment spent outside, he was acting, pretending to be a part of a world he didn't belong to. It was only with Doc that he could be himself, and even then there were limitations. The Dr. Emmett Lathrop Brown of 1955 was not the same friend Marty had known since his early teenage years; he would become him, eventually, but at the moment he still felt like a completely different person.

Of course, Marty was deeply grateful that the inventor was helping him to find a way back home. He couldn't imagine what he would do without Doc's help. He'd be stuck here with nowhere to go, maybe stranded in the streets of 1955 until the time ripple arrived and erased him.

Marty's thoughts inevitably turned to Doc's future murder in 1985 at the hands of the Libyan terrorists, and his heart sank. Technically it hadn't happened yet, but for him it was as though it had. Memories of the first real killing witnessed don't fade easily, especially not when the victim is your best friend.

He'd have to stop it, somehow... he wouldn't be able to live with the knowledge that he had the means to do so, but hadn't. He had a time machine at his disposal, for crying out loud. The only problem would be how he was going to go about it.

Marty doubted that the 1955 Doc would help him in this area; their conversations so far seemed to indicate that Emmett didn't want to know anything more than absolutely necessary about the future. Even if he did manage to tell him about the murder, Doc might not let him do anything about it. He would probably think that it was meant to be and that it would not be wise to mess with the timeline considering how much damage the teen had already done to it.

He would worry about that later when the time came. The immediate problem was how to make sure George and Lorraine got together. It was still hard to think of them as being the same age as him. His father wasn't very different as a seventeen-year-old - he still did Biff's work for him, for one, only now it was homework and not reports.

But his mother... Marty preferred not to think about it. There were some things that shouldn't be thought about more than necessary, and this was one of them, because it could seriously warp his life if he thought too much about it. So Marty didn't think about it, and decided to turn his attention to something else - that nice clock hanging above the door, for example.

It was a nice clock. It told the time, too, and wasn't traumatising like his encounter that morning with the seventeen-year-old Lorraine Baines... No! He was thinking about it again. Marty broke out in a cold sweat. _No, don't think about it_, he told himself, _look at that clock, that nice pretty clock that tells the time and says that it is..._

Marty squinted in the dark and tried to make out where the clock hands were pointing. The hour hand was reaching twelve, and so was the minute hand.

It was almost midnight.

Marty was hit with the revelation that he had been in 1955 for almost a whole day. Yet it seemed only moments ago that he had seen his 1985 family - George, Lorraine, Dave, and Linda... It was strange to think that they technically didn't exist anymore, strange to think that his memories were currently all he had left of them. If he, by some miracle or other, were able to go back to 1985 right now, they simply wouldn't be there.

They were nothing now unless he did something about it, and soon, he would be too. There was a weird sense of release to it. Everything gone: no more problems, no more troubles, whatever wrongs he had done in his life all forgotten, erased by the hands of time.

Maybe he was already erased. Perhaps he would never succeed in bringing his parents back together, and all he was now was the echo that Doc had talked about.

Marty missed his family. Less than a day had passed, and he already missed them. He'd spent longer times away from home before and it hadn't mattered then, but it had been different. Then he had known at least that they would still exist when he got home.

He knew so many people who would have jumped at the chance to erase their family from existence. He had to admit that he too had harboured such thoughts at some point or other in his life, but when it was really happening, it was just different somehow.

Somewhen out there, in some alternate timeline perhaps, his family was waiting for him.

Perhaps his parents would wake up early in the morning and find his bed empty. They'd call up his friends and Jennifer to check if they knew where he was, check to see if he was just sleepwalking or if he had run away from home... Dave would make snide comments regarding his possible whereabouts... Eventually, they'd call the police. The police would come, do a search, and they would never find him anywhere on the planet.

Some time later, his name would turn up in the newspapers with a picture attached. His name would be added to the list of missing people, and after several years he would pass away into obscurity.

_Maybe that was what happened to all the missing people_, Marty found himself thinking wildly. _Maybe some of them are just lost somewhere in time with no way to get home._

_Like me._

_So maybe I'm not alone after all._

_Maybe._

It was a comforting, if not somewhat outrageous thought. But it was enough for him at the moment, and it was late.

When the hour and minute hands of the clock met at the number twelve, Marty had fallen asleep. Doc came to check on him several minutes later before turning in for the night himself, putting aside for a moment the challenge of getting Marty home as soon as possible. He would manage it, somehow. You could accomplish anything you put your mind to, and this was a task Emmett was determined to accomplish no matter what it took.

In his bed, Marty slept and dreamt of home, dreamt of his family and Jennifer and of the life he knew so well.

And, somewhen out there, 1985 waited for his return.

**THE END**

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clarafan: Thanks for reviewing! Yep, Marty's a chicken. 

Stoko: Thanks for your review! D

HyperCaz: And how did the machines know what chicken tastes like? Tastee Wheat. Yay. Welcome to the real world.

Miss Piratess: Thanks for reviewing! Yep, we did.

Anonymous-cat: This is the longest chapter. So does that mean I get the longest review?

Joe McCool: Wow. I think that's one of the longest reviews I've ever received. Thanks for the story tips; I'll keep them in mind when I revise the fic. 'May the power be with you'? As in the Force? Thanks for reviewing!

Fyeten: Thanks for reviewing!

Kleenexwoman: I'll probably expand it sometime. Thanks for your review!

Grim Reaper: Okay, I'll write more! Thanks for reviewing!

flux capacitor... fluxing: Told you the sixth one would be weirder. D


	12. It Would Be So Fun

Disclaimer: Back to the Future be not mine.

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**IT WOULD BE SO FUN**  
Early/Mid-1955  
Hill Valley, California

It was a decision George McFly did not like to make, though it wasn't as if he had much of a choice. It was late, his favourite television programme was showing, and he still hadn't finished doing Biff Tannen's homework. Biff would be asking for it the next morning, and if George wasn't able to produce the work, he could very well be saying hello to life as a quadriplegic.

George realised that it was his own fault that he was so pressed for time now: he had spent more time than usual that afternoon writing his latest science-fiction short story, having been hit by a long-sought-after bout of inspiration. He should have known he would have had to pay for those happy hours eventually.

How on earth was he supposed to concentrate knowing that Science Fiction Theatre was on television? Try as he might to stay focussed, his mind kept drifting off to the blank screen in the living room, where he should have been enjoying a well-deserved restful end to a productive day.

Biff was probably having fun now, George thought somewhat bitterly, writing out the first line of the other teenager's history essay. It was one thing to do someone else's homework; it was another thing altogether if the piece of work in question had already been done for himself, and he now had to rewrite everything differently such that teachers wouldn't get suspicious. He also had to change his writing style and all that; after all, one of the reasons why Biff wanted George especially to do his homework for him was the fact that George was a writer and thus better at making Biff's homework sound as though it was actually written by him.

At least, that was what George told himself. In reality, Biff just wanted George to do his homework for him because he knew that George was a pathetic pushover when it came to Biff's varied demands, and besides why bother picking on someone else when his favourite target was so willing?

So many times George had had to overcome the urge to produce sub-par work for Biff - the risk wasn't worth it. And strangely, George found that he occasionally took some pride in submitting well-done pieces of work to be handed in under Biff's name. He would probably make a good ghostwriter. In a way, this was practice... thinking of it like that helped some.

Though of course he would much rather be watching Science Fiction Theatre.

It just wasn't fair, George thought, his pen nib pressing a little too hard into the paper.

How he would love to just go up to Biff one day and demand that Biff do his own homework from then on instead of forcing it on other people. Though of course George would never be able to go through with it: just the mere thought of doing so made him quake.

If only real life were like his stories and he were more like the protagonists he created. His characters would never have allowed themselves to be pushed around the way he always was. They would have stood up for themselves and dealt well with the consequences. Funny how it all seemed so easy when he thought up and wrote out their reactions to the various conflicts they found themselves in, yet when it came to reality he no more knew what to do than a tea leaf knows how to boogie dance.

Yet sometimes he couldn't help Those Thoughts from coming. They scared him, and George always tried to ignore them, but at times like this they always came back: thoughts that said how fun it would be to sneak a gun to school one day and then walk calmly up to Biff, pull the trigger, and watch Tannen's brains decorate the walls. That would teach him a lesson for messing with George Douglas McFly.

But one gun wouldn't be enough; two would be more fun, him standing on top of the cafeteria table with two sub-machine guns in his hands, gunning down the staff and students of Hill Valley High, blood splattering all over the floor and corpses riddled with holes collapsing on top of one another, screams filling the air and then stopping suddenly as the screamers are silenced. Students, teachers, curious spectators, none would get out alive. And he wouldn't stop there, oh no he wouldn't. The rest of Hill Valley would come next, and the police would be dead before they could do anything. And then he'd go on to conquer the world, until they finally catch him, whereupon he would just stick both guns to his head and bid the world a memorable goodbye; it hadn't been particularly kind to him anyway.

And why settle for guns? Why not use knives or swords just like the heroes of old? They were much more personal, intimate, less indifferent than cold metal bullets. He could slice off Biff's fingers one by one, paying no heed to his cries, and then sever his toes, and then poke out his eyes and neatly chop off Tannen's body parts with the kind of chopping knives butchers use. And he could gut him, oh yes, pull out his intestines and liver and spleen and spill his stomach's contents all over Biff's face, and puncture his lungs and revel in the gruesomness of it all, adrenaline pumping through his veins, and then maybe he could _eat_ Biff alive, just for the heck of it, and of course George would end up in jail with a horrible case of indigestion to boot, but so what, it would be worth it, oh it would be so _fun_...

George's hand was shaking too hard to write, so he put the pen down, heart thumping, unsuccessfully withholding the urge to cry. He didn't want to think about it, it scared him, and he didn't know whhy he kept having those thoughts...

The teen buried his face in his hands, feeling the trickle of tears slipping through his fingers, his body trembling, mostly with fear, yet also with a trace of bloodlust that was starting to grow with each passing moment.

His mind barely registered the fact that Science Fiction Theatre had just finished and he would no longer be able to see any of it.

Foremost in his mind now was the loud chatter of gunfire, the scent of blood, the gleam of sharp steel, and the screams... always the screams...

A very un-George-like smirk started to form on his face.

It would be so _fun_.

**end.**

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	13. Last Chance to See

Disclaimer: Back to the Future is not mine.

**LAST CHANCE TO SEE**

Marty remembered that night: November 12th, 1955, the Enchantment Under the Sea Dance. Marvin and the Starlighters playing on the sea-themed stage, high school students plying the dance floor. He remembered that night well; he had to.

It was the night he'd nearly been erased from existence, the night when everything that had been building up that week finally came all right, all in the nick of time just like some movie. He remembered the feeling of almost not-being, the world fading away and him pondering: If he didn't exist, did the world?

But then George had kissed Lorraine and life and existence had shot back into him and the world was real again, his fingers feeling every string of the guitar in his hands.

Dark clouds in the sky. The Great Hill Valley Lightning Storm of '55; the lightning bolt that had sent him back to the future as it ended the life of the town's greatest monument at exactly 10:04 pm. And all the while, him wondering if he'd have enough time to warn his best friend of his future death in Marty's past.

He may have had a time machine, but he never had enough time.

Back in '85, things had changed. For the better, definitely, but sometimes the familiar bad is more comforting than the foreign good. His home, the one he'd grown up in and had always known, was gone for good along with the dysfunctional family he knew, replaced by a bright cheery home straight out of one of those interior decoration magazines, filled with well-adjusted individuals that _looked _like his family but weren't, not really.

He felt a weird nostalgia for a time he used to hate and which now no longer existed, when his mother was fat and his brother worked at Burger King and his sister was a loser and his father wore black-rimmed spectacles and laughed at reruns of _The Honeymooners_ after another day of being pushed around by his supervisor. When they had peanut brittle for dinner and his mother frowned upon his relationship with Jennifer and he didn't mind when people called him chicken.

Jennifer – she had changed too, changed surprisingly much under the unrelenting fingers of the space-time continuum. He thought it slightly odd, actually, that his family members still looked more or less the same, whereas Jennifer was now a totally different person, looks-wise most of all, and in some areas of her personality. He'd almost not noticed, in fact, his memories quickly filling in over his old ones, until that night when he'd woken up with a jolt after a dream about the _old_ Jennifer, and he'd realised that she no longer looked the same as she used to. It made him feel guilty, in a way, to think about that no-longer-existing version of her, although he justified it by the fact that it still _was _Jennifer, who had, in some other timeline, been his girlfriend.

Sometimes he lay awake in bed saddened by the fact that that old world was no more, alive only in his memories which were also slowly fading, and he wondered where those memories went.

This world was his, he realised, all his own doing. Any difference between this world and the old one from 1955 onwards was all his, his creation, his masterpiece.

x x x x x

He stands by the doorway of his home basked in the warm light of the kitchen as the door closes behind Biff, and he knows he's supposed to say something about the car being wrecked; but the words won't come now. He doesn't want to ruin this last glimpse of the old world.

He remembers this night, his last one here before everything changed.

His father, George, positioned awkwardly by the counter as he watches Biff go, face still showing signs of the wretched nervous laughter of seconds ago. His mouth moves slightly in an almost deranged half-grin as if he wants to say something but can't think of what.

Marty just watches him silently. Remembering, pitying, missing this version of his father, such a far cry from the confident, self-assured science-fiction author he is in the new world. He made him that way, but this, this here, now – this was what George McFly was originally meant to be.

"_Uncle Joey didn't make parole."_

The thin cake slides onto the table in its metal tray as Marty munches on his dinner. Peanut brittle cracks between his teeth, spreading its flavour through his mouth. He swallows, and feels the chewed food slide down his throat just like it had in reality.

This is what his life was meant to be. It was the original plan, not that new world he'd created. Better, maybe, but unnatural, unintentional, unreal nightmarish perfection. Real was sitting cramped around the dinner table with his screwed up family listening to Lorraine recount once again the story of how she and George got together long ago once upon a time warp in a place and time no longer extant. And George – still trying to hide from the pathetic reality of his life, drowning his sorrows in television reruns and trying to pretend that he's just fine, totally excellent, Biff just happened to be his supervisor and he's just not very good at _confrontations_ – George just sitting there like a painful foreshadowing of what Marty might end up like in future: hopeless.

"_Your father kissed me for the very first time on that dance floor. It was then I realised I was going to spend the rest of my life with him."_

Present perfect tense. The new world was his present, and it was perfect, and it was tense. For him, anyway. He always felt as if he didn't deserve it, but then again he was the one who made it happen. His little utopia, it had seemed at first.

Yet utopia can never be reached, for it is a state of unreachable paradise, perhaps because when you're living in paradise, you start to miss things as they were when everything was imperfect and life sucked. Because that's what's _real_.

Marty knew this night. He knew how he had gone to lie down in his bed fully clothed and fully intending to stay up until the time came to go over to Twin Pines Mall – _Lone Pines Mall?_ – and get introduced to Doc's little time machine, fully oblivious of the fact that his step out of his house would be the last time he'd ever get to leave the place, for in future it would be a whole different home that he would be leaving.

Marty knows, and this time he doesn't want to make that same mistake. He takes the phone off the hook, not wanting Doc's call to wake his sleeping family.

The rest of the McFlys are asleep when Marty pads out of his bedroom in the near darkness and into the living room. He turns on a lamp and squints briefly at the sudden light, then gets down on the carpeted floor – gaze lingering temporarily on the stain by one of the shelves where Lorraine had once thrown up after another night of binge drinking. The stain isn't there in the new world.

Marty opens the cupboards and carefully takes out the old photo albums lying untidily inside, trying not to set loose any more dust than necessary. His fingers explore the peeling fake leather cover, then he lifts it up, gazing at yellowed page after page of the photo album on which are mounted the pictorial memories of the old world, flipping through the stories of a non-existent time.

Then sunlight shines through the bedroom window and the dream breaks as Marty wakes, back in his bed in the new world he created, a stranger in a strange land who can never return home.

**The End.**


	14. Back in Time

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to BTTF or the song 'Back in Time', which was composed for the movie anyway so I think it's legal to dump 'em here...

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**BACK IN TIME - a fanfic tribute to the back to the future trilogy**

The light streaked across the sky, twin trails of fire blazing a path across the heavens. And he remembered 1985.

Digital watches one minute out of sync. Clutching a video camera in what used to be Twin Pines Mall, the scent of burnt rubber heavy in the air. A hot metal license plate spinning on the tarmac.

_tell me doctor, where are we goin' this time?_

The triple sonic booms ripping through the space-time barrier, blue sparks dancing on the windscreen. Flux capacitor fluxing. Temporal displacement.

_is this the fifties, or ninety-ninety nine?_

Waking up to a world where his parents were his age, experiencing a time that his generation never knew. For the span of one week, being a fifties' kid, ere the lightning struck and sent him back to the future.

_all i wanted to do was to play my guitar and sing_

Feedback screeching from the microphone. Fingers plucking at metal strings, strident notes in the air. Too loud, they said, too loud. Two words, and dreams were shattered. But dreams could be rebuilt if you only put your mind to it.

_so take me away, i don't mind_

But he had minded then, that night of November 12th. He hadn't been ready to go. He'd still had a life to live, a life that he wanted to still exist. And somehow, time heeded his wish.

_but you better promise me i'll be back in time_

He hadn't been. Ten minutes hadn't done it. Trying to start the stalled car, seeing the Lybians' van speed by. Getting out on foot, running, running, watching helpless outside Lone Pine Mall as the bullets hit their target just the way they had the first time. History repeats itself. And for a moment then he had been sure it was all over.

_don't bet your future on a roll of the dice_

Well, it had worked for Biff. The Luckiest Man on Earth, they had called him, but of course it wasn't luck. Gray's Sports Almanac, 1950-2000. Such were the benefits of future knowledge, though it wasn't just Biff that had benefitted. The drag race, the Rolls Royce - if they had crashed, it would have been the end of so much, and the dreams would have been shattered for good.

_you better remember lightning never strikes twice_

Three times, actually. Three brilliant bolts of electricity, overloading the time circuits, spiriting Doc away to the Old West. Taking Marty's best friend and sure way home away from him, a hundred years back in time.

_please don't drive and eat, don't wanna be late again_

How many tardy slips had he collected that year? He couldn't remember now. He wasn't even sure if he ever knew for sure. What he did remember was Strickland's face looming up threateningly in front of him. _No McFly ever amounted to anything in the history of Hill Valley._ But history changed, oh yes it did.

_so take me away, i don't mind_

Escapism. That's what it was, really. Zipping away into history, unrestrained by the regular constraints of time. Leave one morning, spend a week elsewhere, then come back and continue that morning, one week older.

_but you better promise me i'll be back in time_

Time. Time was an arbitrary thing. The future could lead the present as much as the past. The timeline was alive, ever changing. What didn't change was your own personal timeline. You don't get any younger, rejuvenation treatments notwithstanding. Your own time is limited. Your own time can't be relived. You will only be seventeen once.

Marty looked back at the light in the sky, and wished upon the shooting stars.

**the end.**


	15. Just Visiting

Disclaimer: Don't own BTTF.

**just visiting**

"_We named him after you_," they say, with smiles, and he's the only one who knows the truth, the only one who sees the irony, and his mouth curves upwards in a brief smile.

It's a strange sensation, looking into his own eyes. From the way the child starts, he can tell that the feeling is mutual. His younger self regards him with a glance almost fearful; but there is curiosity there also, suspicion of this stranger he just met with whom he somehow feels a… connection.

"_Hi, Marty_," he greets, still playing the part of just an old schoolmate of his parents. "_It's nice to meet you._"

A polite handshake, his fingers closing around the small hand. Past and future make contact, old and new, thirty years rendered nothing as they touch. His eyes speak silently of time travel, DeLoreans, an old scientist named Emmett; and for a moment, vague understanding crosses the face of the six-year-old boy, and recognition flickers just briefly –

"_Ah, I'd better be going now,_" he says, breaking eye contact, severing the link. "_I'm, uh, supposed to be meeting someone._"

He lies. But he has to go, that's true. Can't risk changing history and all that. He's gone before they have the chance to ask for addresses and telephone numbers, and it's just the child staring after him, and he wonders when he'll remember this little visit back –

Then the ripple comes, and he remembers.

**end**


	16. Alternate

Disclaimer: Back to the Future is not mine. The BTTF fan fiction directory, however, is. Go look at it if you haven't yet. Link is in my profile.

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**Alternate**

George Douglas McFly has strange dreams sometimes.

If they are dreams. They often seem too real, too familiar. Like erased memories surfacing from some secret place that George never can enter while he is awake.

The dreams have a strange constancy to them, as though they all take place in the same world.

In that dream world he is not a writer. He still writes, but not science-fiction; reports. For Biff, his supervisor in that world.

In that world, George wears glasses and cheap shirts, his hair slicked back with oil that needs changing.

His wife is not the slim woman he knows, but plump, old-looking, reeking of vodka. His three children are all losers and slackers. Their house looks older and badly maintained.

It's all so clear, so detailed, in his dreams. Almost as if they were from... but from where, or from when, he does not know. From an alternate universe, perhaps. The kind of things that real!George writes about. An alternate world, running parallel. Same time, different place. That which could have been.

Though sometimes, George isn't quite sure which world is the dream, and which world is the true.

**xx**

(This fic is proof that some poetry is really just paragraphs chopped up into bits. It was originally written as a poem with ten syllables a line, then I decided that it would work better as prose and joined all the lines together)


	17. Smoke and Mirrors

Disclaimer: Still don't own the trilogy.

It's been more than half a year since I wrote BTTF fic; been caught up with life and other fandoms (hail comparatively large amount of recent _Matrix_ fanfic). Writing this, I realised how much I miss the characters and their universe. It's been a long time.

Enjoy.

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**Smoke and Mirrors**

The flying car was gone.

Marty McFly strained his eyes, unable to believe what they seemed to be telling him. Flying cars do not just disappear. Then again, neither are cars supposed to be able to fly.

But the dark skies were now empty, and the brilliant streaks of fire that had followed in the wake of the phantom car were now dissipating into unremarkable wisps of smoke that soon, too, were gone.

"_No_," Marty croaked, a coarse, low whisper that rose out of a desperation he did not quite know why he felt. "No... come back. Please."

But the flying car did not reappear.

"_Please..._"

His feet paced out small frantic circles, unguided by the face that still remained upturned to the empty heavens trying to grasp once again that small moment of magic he had felt at the first sight of the flying car. The car meant something, he knew, something important, something meant for him, its presence seeming to trigger memories he had never had at any point in his miserable life.

"_Come back..._"

He yearned to touch the flying car and know that it was real, to meet its owners and ask perhaps for a ride, because the car was important, somehow, and something told him that it was the only way out of his life because the flying car would change things and make things different, make things better; that was what magic could do.

A rogue lightning bolt flashed in the sky, and once again he felt a tinge of that same flying car magic. There was adventure in that lightning bolt. And danger, excitement... He didn't know why. Lightning bolts had never had that effect on him before.

The first drops of rain started to fall. He would get wet out here on the road. But it didn't matter. He couldn't leave. The flying car might come back for him, and maybe take him... take him home.

Home. That was why he had run away from boarding school at Switzerland: he'd wanted to go home. The streets of Hill Valley had called his name and for a moment had transformed in his mind into a happy place, one of sunshine and laughter and picnics by the town pond and young legs learning to find their place on a skateboard.

That was a part of Hill Valley that would forever remain pure. It helped sometimes to remember how things could have turned out, to think of the possibilities and promise that the town had once held before the dark shadow of Biff Tannen had rerouted its future.

It was that illusion of home, of paradise, that had sustained him for so many years. Reality offered no comforts, what with its graffitied streets and rampant crime. He'd learnt to kill when he was nine. Sometimes you did what you had to survive; if it was at the price of other's survival, that couldn't be helped.

Once he'd tried to kill Biff. He had been young then, and didn't know that Biff was the only reason they had money and weren't living on the streets. His mother had wrenched the gun from his hands, shouting at him, scolding him, and then suddenly she had cried and hugged him and held him close, taking the blows meant for him, screaming as Biff's hands came forcefully down on them.

He had been young. He had not understood. All he knew then was that he had a gun, he knew how to use it, and that Biff was a bad man who needed to be killed.

"_He's your father now_," Lorraine had told him through her sobs. "_He takes care of us_."

But George McFly was the only father he would ever acknowledge, and it had been in his memory that Marty had made the attempt on Biff's life.

Such was his childhood, such was home: trash and dead bodies and stories of loss.

A siren wailed in the distance among sounds of screams and running feet.

The rain grew heavier. There was still no sign of the flying car. Perhaps he had only imagined it - but no. He couldn't have. It had been real. It had been real. He'd seen the gleam of its stainless steel body and heard its three sonic booms as it had broken without a trace into the night. It was real. Its impact on him had been too strong for it to be otherwise. It was real. It was real...

Marty swept wet hair off his forehead with a trembling hand, rainwater mingling and falling with the fresh tears on his face.

"Come back," he begged again, although he knew that none could hear him. "Please... come back..."

Claps of thunder drowned out his words, and the dark clouds unleashed their full force of rain upon the ground.

"Please... _Please._"

But the flying car was gone.

xxx


End file.
